


Last Christmas (i gave you my heart)

by SeeThemFlying



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A year in the life of, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Miscommunication on a massive scale, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining for the person you're sleeping with, Second Chances, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28381953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: Last Christmas, Jaime and Brienne had sex.This Christmas, they are still working out what to do about it.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Past Jaime Lannister/Cersei Lannister, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 79
Kudos: 232
Collections: JB Festive Festival Exchange 2020





	Last Christmas (i gave you my heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mazily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/gifts).



> Hey guys!
> 
> I got two prompts from the lovely mazily which were: pining for the person you're sleeping with (aka, oh no! I've fallen in love with the person I've been having sex with!) and second chances, which I decided to roll into a fluffy little one shot of about 2000 words.
> 
> Instead of the saviour of mankind, I ended up bringing this 20,000 word monster into the world, whose title is derived from a Wham! song. This has been an all around disaster, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

**Last Christmas**

"It has been so nice to meet you, Brianna," says Alerie or Alysanne or Alys, Brienne's Dad's latest inappropriately youthful girlfriend. "We will have to go on that shopping trip sometime."

Brienne gives her what she hopes is an effusive smile and a nod. As politeness is due, there is no point in correcting her over the _Brianna_ slip-up; Alerie or Alysanne or Alys will be long gone before Brienne will be obliged to meet her at another unavoidable family gathering, so there is no point starting a fight. Selwyn Tarth gets bored very quickly, after all.

"Of course, I'd love that," says Brienne, even though the idea of going shopping with a 5"2 fitness model sounds like divine punishment from a mightily pissed off god rather than a pleasure. "We will have to check our calendars."

"Brilliant!" smiles Alerie or Alysanne or Alys. "It is a date."

After finishing her insincere goodbye with Alerie or Alysanne or Alys, Brienne is wrapped in an enormous bear hug by her Uncle Endrew. He is wearing a Christmas hat and has drunk far too much eggnog, so is almost sobbing into her shoulder when Brienne announces her departure.

"Do you have to go? We've only just had the Queen's Speech!"

"Uncle Endrew, the Queen's Speech was _three hours ago._ "

"Was it?"

"Yes. You've had two cheeseboards since then."

"Oh."

In spite of being factually incorrect about what time it is, Uncle Endrew keeps making excuses about why Brienne shouldn't leave. Consequently, she joins in with the amateur dramatics of it all - "of _course_ I'd love to stay, but I'm working tomorrow" - even as she tries to hurry out of the door. Although she loves them (well, _some_ of them), Christmas with the family is always excruciatingly painful and she can never bring herself to tell her uncle that all she really wants is a bath, her bed, and a good book. He has always been unendingly sweet.

The same cannot be said for his wife, Roelle. After her mother had died when she was seven, Brienne's dad had become convinced that she needed a "strong female influence" in her life. Consequently, she often found herself stuck with Aunt Roelle while her dad and Uncle Endrew were at work, or at the pub, or at the football. With a sharp tongue and a sharper stare, Roelle had turned Brienne from a rambunctious little girl into a quivering wallflower in the space of six months.

"You shouldn't eat so much, Brienne. Nobody likes a fat girl."

"God, you laugh is so _obnoxious._ Can you please stop guffawing? I'm trying to watch the TV. _"_

"Don't listen to any sweet lie a man tells you. You only need to look in the mirror for the truth; you are ugly. So look, Brienne... I said _look_."

While Brienne's dad and Uncle Endrew had not noticed Brienne's distress at the time, it did not make the whole situation any less traumatic. The freckles that had once seemed characterful to Brienne had become a knock-off Jackson Pollock painting, the model-esque height gargantuan and freakish, and her features mannish and strange. It had taken a lot of unlearning for Brienne ever to be just _okay_ with herself, so she had never forgiven Roelle for those torturous childhood days when she took pleasure in running Brienne's self-esteem into the ground.

"Goodbye Aunt Roelle," says Brienne, as she stands in front of the Wicked Witch of the West feeling twelve years old once more. "Merry Christmas, and I am sure I will see you in the new year."

Roelle tries to smile, but she only succeeds in sucking a lemon.

"Goodbye, Brienne. Merry Christmas."

Given that there is no sincerity in any of it - in fact, Alerie or Alysanne or Alys had been more heartfelt - Brienne feels no qualms in turning her back on her bitter aunt and going to say goodbye to her dad instead. Selwyn Tarth is not quite as drunk as his brother, but he still grows a little teary-eyed when she makes her intention to leave known.

"You should stay for more drinks," he declares. "Endrew will play the piano soon, and we can have a sing-song."

Brienne does not want to tell her dad that Uncle Endrew is so drunk he will probably just fall off the piano stool, so instead she just laughs. "I'm sorry, dad. I have to get back to Jaime."

She does not have to get back to Jaime, she just wants to get home.

Nevertheless, her dad's eyes soften perceptively at the Jaime lie; it is perhaps the only lie Brienne could ever tell him that he would believe. "Ah yes, Jaime." he says. She doesn't need to ask what hidden knowledge hides behind his words. It is the same knowledge she has to live with every day. "How is your _housemate_?"

Brienne knows her dad calls Jaime her _housemate_ because that is the word that she uses to describe him, because calling him anything else would take her into dangerous territory.

Best Friend. Soulmate. Beloved.

"He's fine," she says stiffly, as her dad continues to stare at her in a way that is both drunken and soul-piercing. "He's decided not to go to the big Lannister Christmas bash, so is all alone at the house. I promised him I would come back and see him... so he didn't have to spend Christmas with no one for company."

"That's kind, Starburst."

"Thanks." The lie tastes bitter in her mouth, but she is already too far gone to take it back. "I'll see you soon, dad. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he replies, before wrapping her in a bear hug, a pecking her on the top of the head. "And wish Jaime a Merry Christmas from me too."

She nods into her dad's shoulder, still feeling horrendously guilty about her untruthfulness. "I will. I promise."

There is a final round of goodbyes before Brienne is freed from the cloying pull of her family and begins to walk back to her own place. Once out in the cold air, some of her guilt dissipates. She loves being at home, and would prefer being there to pretending she enjoys Aunt Roelle's company for much longer. The cottage she and Jaime share is in a pretty little cul-de-sac that is cosy in its intimacy; Brienne had built a trellis in their front garden which is now wrapped in honeysuckle (which Jaime had told her was cute), and he had painted the front door a bright sapphire blue they both liked. It is the best home she has ever known, even if it had come about by pure accident.

They hadn't meant to move in together originally; Brienne and Margaery were initially going to be housemates, but then Margaery and Sansa had announced they were an item and wanted to try the whole couples' living together thing, meaning Brienne had been forced to find someone else. Someone else had been Jaime. He was Margaery's brother Loras' former colleague, who had been searching for a new life after walking out on his soul-destroying job in the family business. Short on options, Brienne had agreed to live with him. At first, she had not been his biggest fan - his arrogant demeanour was off-putting and his ridiculous good looks annoying - but she soon came to learn that all his aggressive posturing was a disguise worn to hide the hurt he nursed within. His mother had died when he was young, he had been forced to partly raise his brother, and clung to the tiniest bits of affection that were thrown his way. He had tried to patch over the great wound at the centre of himself when his father had remarried, and his new wife had brought a nice new "sister" from a previous marriage into the family with her. Of course, Jaime had quickly made sure that his feelings towards Cersei were anything but brotherly.

At first, Brienne had thought Jaime a terrible person for that. What kind of guy slept with his step-sister? Yet soon she had discovered the truth. Jaime had loved Cersei because he had lacked love from correct sources - his mother was dead, his father distant, cold, and authoritarian - and had been trying to find somewhere to spend his kindness, his affection, and the light that just emanated from him. Cersei had seemed beautiful, warm, and inviting. In her arms, he had plotted out constellations in the stars that predicted love, trust, and a sense of belonging in his future, and had identified all those dreams with Cersei even when the evidence contradicted him. They had broken up and got back together, broken up and got back together so many times - most recently about six months ago - but, for Jaime, Cersei was love.

 _He'll go back to her again,_ Brienne thinks as she reaches their front door. _He'll always go back to her._

_So it hardly matters that I love him so much I could die._

It is due to Jaime's all-consuming love for his step-sister that, once she lets herself into their cottage, Brienne is quite shocked to discover that Jaime is not actually at the Lannister Christmas Party after all, but sitting on their sofa shirtless, downing half a bottle of vodka, with tinsel in his hair. As shadows dance across his profile in the light of the TV - which is playing some shitty Christmas Special - Brienne finds she does not understand. Jaime _always_ goes to his father's Christmas Party, as it means he gets a chance to see Cersei, and Cersei is the most important thing in his life. Telling her dad that Jaime was at home was only a lie to help her get away quickly.

"Brie," Jaime cries as he sits up, his tinsel crown making him every inch a king, come to teach her the true meaning of the holiday season. "You are back!"

Brienne shuffles her feet. His smile is so dazzling that she almost finds it awkward to look at him, especially as he blatantly looks so happy to see her. Ever since he had last broken up with Cersei - which was about six months ago now - Brienne and Jaime had been spending more time together. It often meant sitting on the sofa together watching boxsets while Jaime draped himself across her like some former feral cat who had discovered snuggles for the first time after being adopted by an elderly cat lady. Given his love for said snuggles, it is not ten seconds before Jaime leaps up, grabs Brienne's hand, and pulls her onto the sofa beside him, wrapping her in his strong arms.

She blushes so hard it gives her a headrush.

"Freckles," he breathes against her hair. "You are home."

She tries to pretend his closeness is not the most wonderful and most terrible thing in the world by giving him an awkward smile, desperately attempting to ignore the fact that his bare chest is brushing her arm and his thigh is positioned awkwardly between her legs.

"I thought you were at your father's for dinner."

Jaime's hiccups; he's clearly drunk too much vodka.

"I was... but then I came home, because I just didn't want to spend Christmas with _them._ Father and Uncle Kevan were talking business over the turkey, Tyrion was drunk as a skunk, Cousin Lancel has become a born again Christian so was insisting on saying grace every five minutes. Aunt Genna didn't even turn _up_ because the traffic was so bad and Cersei..." He pauses, his arms tensing around Brienne. "Well, Cersei was there with Robert and they announced they are engaged."

Although the television is playing some stupid Christmas Special, Brienne can barely hear it because she is too busy analysing Jaime. Surveying his face, she notices the frown lines on his forehead and that his cheeks are slightly pink. Perhaps Jaime is trying to hide his hurt from her, knowing how she would react at the mention of the Bitch-in-Chief, who had used and abused him for years, but she can see right through his feeble attempt.

Without thinking, Brienne kisses the side of his head. She hates to think that Cersei ruined his Christmas with her attempts at messing with his mind, so hopes her closeness with serve as a kind of comfort. "Oh Jaime, I'm so sorry."

Her face remains close to his, even as he turns towards Brienne, his green eyes brighter than the Christmas lights. "It's nothing, Freckles. She was just trying to piss me off." Absentmindedly, Jaime mirrors what she had just done by pressing a kiss into Brienne's cheek. She tries not to spontaneously combust. "Cersei sat opposite me at the table, not touching her food, grinning and grinning at me like a deranged person. I'm sure if I had been sat next to her, she would have tried to wank me off under the table, just to get at me."

"Jaime!" huffs Brienne, scandalised at his language.

He grins like a naughty schoolboy, and it makes her squeeze him tighter. "I'm sorry, Freckles," he says, before pressing another ovary-threatening kiss to her cheek. "I know you don't like bad language, but Cersei pushes me too it. After she announced the engagement, I pretty much turned on my heel and came home. I didn't want to just sit there are let her play mind games for the rest of the day."

Brienne entwines her legs with his, wanting to show him that her affection is not a prize for winning a contest, or behaving in a certain way. She always wants to be close to Jaime and doesn't need anything in return. "I'm sorry Cersei's terrible behaviour cost you Christmas with your family." Before she can stop herself, Brienne runs one hand up his chest, his neck, and to his face; the warm strength of his body is just too much to resist. She settles her hand on his cheek, cupping her fingers around his sharp jaw. To her surprise, he leans into her touch. "Christmas should be a day about those you love."

His expression turns soft. "I know, Freckles. That's why I came home."

As the lights twinkle on the Christmas tree, there is a momentary pause before Jaime leans forward and kisses Brienne, his stubble rough against her skin. He tastes like vodka and feels like desire - visceral and disarming and real - but the absurdity of Jaime Lannister kissing _her_ only begins to sink in when she hears the Unnamed Christmas Special still playing in the background, its canned laughter underlying how ridiculous this all is.

 _Jaime is kissing me,_ she thinks, mid-bliss. _Even though he still loves Cersei._

_Even though he doesn't love me._

She tries to pull away but is not strong enough.

"Jaime," she gasps between kisses. "You should go back... to your father's... Christmas is about... family."

Jaime pulls her onto his lap, and she suddenly becomes conscious of the fact he is half hard. "I'm not going," he vows, kissing her deeply, kissing her breathless, kissing her into the sofa. "I'm staying here with you, Brienne... with you."

**A Week Out of Time**

The week between Christmas and New Year's is always weird, but this one is weirder than most. Brienne is woken up on Boxing Day by Jaime pushing her legs open, and she doesn't even get an obligatory _good morning_ before his tongue is inside her and she is desperately grasping his head by the roots of his hair, directing him.

"Yes, Jaime... yes... yes..."

There is not much talking, given that it is somehow both perfunctory and passionate, but Brienne doesn't mind. She doesn't need affectionate words in the face of what is real. Jaime is slowly unspooling her desire for him, the very same desire she had kept tightly knotted in her chest for so long. As her hands run over the soft skin of his shoulders, feeling the taut, bunched muscles, his stubble burns the inside of her thighs in a way that sets her entire body aflame. _God,_ she thinks as he sucks at her most intimate flesh like a man dying of thirst, as if he cannot get enough of her.

_Hosanna in excelsis._

It is like eating a particularly moreish piece of chocolate cake; every slice makes her want another bite. If Jaime is as ravenous for her as she is for him, he tells her in his kisses, barely letting her up for breath, and Brienne nearly dies at how giddy those kisses make her feel, how giddy and weak and _soft_. Her love for him renders her malleable, as if she is clay that he is carefully crafting into something beautiful with his delicate hands. She feels beautiful with him, at least.

"Jaime," she gasps, when he lifts his head from between her legs for a moment to smile at her. It is a victorious grin, complete with green-eyed triumph, that would normally cause her to tell him to stop being so smug. Open and vulnerable, Brienne cannot bring herself to fight back. Her love for him makes her want to surrender, to give over everything she has and let him be brighter for what she has offered him. "Jaime. _Please_."

In the face of her pleading, Jaime does not say anything, but instead runs his fingers over where she is most sensitive, then slips them inside her. He is delicate even as she clenches around him, unable to bear the pleasure.

"Come for me, Brienne," he asks, no, he _commands_ her. "Come for me."

She does, desperate to obey.

They don't talk. What is there to talk about? Instead, during that week that belongs nowhere, they fuck, and eat cake, and fuck, and hold hands, and fuck, and slow dance in the kitchen to _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ , and fuck, and watch _Home Alone 2: Lost in New York,_ and fuck, and moan about work, and fuck, and she runs her hand through his chest hair while he's sleeping and hopes this means something, and fuck...

On New Year's Eve, she is so sore and exhausted from his body being pressed into hers that she lets him roll her over onto her front and climb on top of her. She expects him to rut between her thighs - if there is anything she has learnt about Jaime in the last few days, it is that he has an unrivalled sexual stamina - but instead he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck and just kisses her there so tenderly. She wants to kiss him back but finds herself trapped in his arms, immobilised by love.

"Brienne," he says. She melts, because that word is so full of affection and feeling it almost hurts. Was this the moment they would finally talk about their feelings? The feelings she was sure they had both been hiding for so long, the feelings that she has been so scared to put a name to, the feelings that--

"Cersei messaged me. She said she needs someone to go to the Lannister New Year's Gala with her, because Robert is away working. I said I would."

**January**

Of course, Brienne doesn't cry. She doesn't shout or swear. She doesn't call Jaime a selfish prick. Instead, she helps him pick out a suit to wear and tells him that he looks handsome in it.

What would be the point of doing anything otherwise? It had been her that had put her hope in all the wrong places. She and Jaime are _friends,_ and just because he had been feeling sad and lonely and needed someone to care about him, it doesn't mean they are in love.

"It doesn't mean anything," Jaime says just before leaving for the gala, looking like some shining fallen angel fresh out of heaven. "This thing with Cer--"

She cuts him off. She doesn't want to hear it. For a few days, Brienne had managed to convince herself that she and Jaime were on the precipice of being more than just friends, but now she realises that belief was an illusion. If she lets him continue to talk, he will tell her that what they did had been fun, but his heart still belongs to Cersei; always has and always will. And hearing him say that will make the mask she has plastered on her face crack, her true emotions shining through.

So she barrels on through, determined that he won't see her break.

"Go, you'll be late if you don't."

He gazes at her softly. "Brienne, I..."

" _Go._ You don't want to miss the party. _"_

After one last, pained look, Jaime leans forward to kiss her on the cheek. She closes her eyes as his lips touch her skin - unable to bear the echo of what might have been - then fixes a fake smile on her face as he turns away to obey her.

 _Bastard,_ she thinks as he closes the door.

_Beloved._

For the next few hours, she pretends that her cheek is not burning where he kissed her, that she doesn't feel empty because he's not inside her, and that her heart is whole and happy and entirely unscathed by how casually he has treated it. In an attempt to distract herself by performing some sort of mundane, modern normality, Brienne keeps her eyes on her phone, doom scrolling through social media as an antidote to her anguish. There are bigger things to worry about than her broken heart as twitter keeps reminding her.

Stock markets are crashing.

The polar ice caps are melting at an alarming rate.

Bees are disappearing.

Mark Mullendore has now got an ugly monkey tattoo on his left bicep.

Jaime and Cersei are at the Lannister Gala together, and his hand is resting in the small of her back, and she is posing for the cameras and he is grinning at her with a smile kept up by those obnoxious dimples of his and oh... oh... oh...

Brienne wants to cry.

The pictures that litter Instagram are stunning, of course. Tywin Lannister never spares any expense on the New Year's bash, so the venue looks as if it might be literal heaven, and the food is served in such small portions that the chef surely has a Michelin star or two. Cersei's tight red dress almost looks like a second skin and it must have cost her a small fortune, and even through the veneer of the photographs Brienne can tell she looks wonderful. And Jaime is... well, Jaime. Beautiful and dazzling and unobtainable and clever and cutting and imperfect and oh so hurt, and everything Brienne has ever wanted and is never going to have.

In agony, Brienne goes to get a drink - apple schnapps - and contents herself with glugging it on the sofa until she passes out. She's always been a happy drunk, and she doesn't want to think about Jaime because thinking of him _hurts,_ so once she finishes the first bottle, she opens another. The dizzy feeling provided by the schnapps is better than the pain.

_Bastard..._

_Beloved..._

She wakes up hours later to a frantic phone call from Tyrion, slightly muffled by static.

"Brienne? Is that you? Gods, you need to get to the city hospital now. There was an accident and Jaime has been hurt... badly. His car came off the road and he got knocked unconscious and there is damage to his hand and--"

She doesn't even find the time to grab her coat before racing out the front door.

**February**

The first time Brienne had been allowed into his private hospital ward to see Jaime, he was still high on pain meds, so wasn't talking much sense.

"Freckles," he had sighed, a dazed smile on his pretty face.

"Hello Jaime."

His face alight with happiness, Jaime had reached out to her with his good hand and interlaced their fingers. The sensible part of her brain had told her to pull away, but Brienne was never sensible when it came to Jaime.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she had asked.

Jaime had pouted, the expression exaggerated in his drugged state. " _Owwwwww."_

Brienne had laughed softly, then edged her way into the large hospital bed so she could wrap her arms around him. He had settled his weight against her eagerly, before trying to lift his bad hand to touch her.

"No," she had said chidingly. "You can't move that."

Guileless, Jaime had gazed at her at if he did not understand, and his momentary innocence made her want to protect him from all the world's ills.

"Why not?"

She had pointed at his bad hand and repeated his own words back to him. " _Owwwwww._ Remember? You've hurt your hand. _"_

Following the line of her gaze, Jaime had looked at his own hand. " _Owwwwww,_ " he had echoed more softly, before resting his head against her shoulder once more. Although her mind had screamed at her not to, her heart surrendered easily at Jaime's closeness, as Brienne had wrapped her body around him as much as the bed had allowed. She couldn't offer him much, but the protection and comfort of her skin against his was something at least.

 _I'm here for you, Jaime,_ she had thought. _You can always count on me._

As Jaime had started to doze against her - relaxed and vulnerable in her arms - Brienne had wondered if anyone had told him the truth about his hand. The doctors had just about managed to save it, but now there was significant nerve damage, and it was unlikely it would work in the same way it had before. Jaime's father had paid a small fortune for the best medical care but had not yet come and seen him. In fact, Brienne herself had had to make a lot of decisions on Jaime's behalf in the absence of his family, because she was the only one there; it was her who booked the recovery therapist, her who ordered the slings and supports he would need for when he returned home, and her who set about researching all the things she could do for him that would make his life easier. Brienne had hoped Jaime would be strong enough to deal with the shock of it, but even if he wasn't, she would be there to help him. Although Jaime would never want her romantically, they were still friends, and she would always be here for him.

"Freckles," he had mumbled dozily from her shoulder.

Responding quickly, Brienne had lifted a hand to his head and started running her fingers through his golden hair. It had felt like silk. "Yes, sweetness? Are you okay?"

"Mmm." As a more comprehensive answer, he had nuzzled his nose against her. The gesture was so full of trust that Brienne's heart was almost glowing with happiness at the casual intimacy. Unfortunately, Jaime had to ruin it. "Where is Cersei?"

Brienne had swallowed her sigh. Jaime was in pain, so she did not want to inflict him with the weight of her broken heart. Instead, she just kissed his brow and hushed him, wanting him to rest.

"She'll be here soon."

That had been a lie, but she would not have Jaime hurt now. Not when he was at his lowest.

"Oh."

The two of them had laid entwined with each other in the quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock that hung over Jaime's bed. There was something about the unspoken truth that had made Brienne relax; she could live with this, wanting Jaime's love but never having it. Dancing around the edge of it could be possible, right? It wasn't as if romance was particularly forthcoming from anywhere else, and...

"Love you," Jaime had mumbled against her clavicle.

Brienne had sighed in lieu of an answer, and then spent the next few weeks desperately wondering whether he was talking to her or to Cersei. He had been talking about Cersei a few moments before, but it had been _her_ skin he had been whispering into, and _her_ arms around him, and _her_ hushed promises in his ear.

Although Brienne had allowed herself to be plagued by those two little words, in the end it hardly means anything, as when Jaime returns to their cottage at the beginning of February armed with a plethora of hand exercises and a more negative outlook on life than he had had before, he makes it very clear that he doesn't remember saying anything at all.

**March**

Most nights, Jaime and Brienne sit together watching TV while she massages his hand. They've become embroiled in some terrible detective boxset with too many series, and the inept copper lead is taking far too long to work out who murdered Jay Hill. Brienne is not having such problems. She is sure it is the ex-girlfriend, Cesira. Cesira and the cop have been getting dangerously close, and there is plenty of evidence that she used to play mind games with Jay; testing his love, making him doubt himself, and twisting him up until he could no longer see right from wrong and wrong from right.

Even if Cesira had not pulled the trigger, her love had been the murder weapon.

"You know, Cersei was a bit like that," said Jaime suddenly, interrupting a flashback in which Cesira was shown slapping Jay.

Brienne raises her eyebrow, not impressed.

"You mean... she hit you?"

Jaime doesn't meet Brienne's eye, even as she kneads at the tender flesh of his palm.

"Occasionally," he says, before wincing. "Ow, Freckles. You are going a little bit too hard."

"Funny, you are normally asking me to go harder."

Jaime blushes at that small reminiscence of the week they spent together in which nothing had seemed real, then looks down at his hand. "You are really good at this," he smiles, his strong profile highlighted by the shadows cast by the TV. "You should become a professional masseuse."

She scoffs. "I thought you only hurt your hand in the accident. I didn't realise you had a major head injury too."

"Stop it." It is clear from his expression that Jaime does not like her talking herself down. "You might not be the most delicate woman who has ever existed, but you are strong and gentle... a million times gentler than Cersei."

Brienne frowned at the mention of Jaime's ex. Previously, Brienne had just been jealous of her, but in the time since the accident Cersei had not come to visit Jaime _once,_ and this revelation that she might have previously hit him turned Brienne's dislike into active hate.

Unable to deal with the compliment, Brienne smiles at Jaime softly, even as she moves her massaging to his fingers.

"Flatterer."

Jaime shakes his head. "Learn to take a compliment, Freckles, especially when it is genuine."

After that, they settle into an uneasy silence that is only softened by the mystery on the TV getting more suspenseful and that the muscles of his hand are becoming more relaxed as she works on them. Jaime has dropped his head backwards against the sofa, his mouth parted in something that looks like a sigh as she squeezes the pads of his fingers in turn. Having spent time in Jaime's bed, Brienne knows that expression is reminiscent of the one he had worn when she stroked her hands across his fanned ribs, or reached down to cup his arse, or even rubbed his cock. It looks strangely like pleasure.

Trying to ignore how hot she feels, Brienne continues to massage Jaime's hand, squeezing her thighs together as she does so. The aching little moans he is making plus the ragged breathing mean that Brienne finds it very difficult to remember that Jaime is meant to find this therapeutic and she is meant to find this _non-arousing._

When Brienne moves her fingers back to his palm, Jaime lets out such a deep groan that she cannot take it anymore. "There we go, done," she says, letting go. She can't keep this strange intimacy up anymore, so moves away as quickly as possible, lest she get burned.

From a position of passive acceptance of pleasure, Jaime snaps his eyes open, looking dazed and confused. "Wha--? Why did you stop?"

Unable to look at him, Brienne roots around for an explanation.

"I... err... it... um..."

In her attempt not to meet his eye, Brienne drops her gaze and accidentally spots something she hadn't expected. Jaime is wearing his favourite pair of loose grey slacks that he likes to adopt around the house because they are comfortable. Normally, Brienne does not notice them at all. Now, however, things are quite different. The material is so loose that it does nothing to hide his erection, and Brienne can only stare in shock at his tented lap, seemingly caused by the massage.

Jay Hill's murderer goes forgotten in the following silence, as Jaime blushes to the roots of his hair. "It... um..." he begins, by way of an explanation. "It feels good, Freckles... when you touch me."

"It feels good when you touch me too."

The words are out of Brienne's mouth before she has time to think, before she has time to take them back, and the realisation that she has just spilt her heart so obviously makes her want to run away, slam the door, and never see him again.

Fortunately, Jaime takes a different approach, and leans in and kisses her.

**April**

"Bad day?" asks Jaime the moment Brienne comes through the door.

She doesn't immediately answer him. Once bitten, twice shy, Brienne is reluctant to unburden her problems to him. Intimacy with Jaime carries razor blades.

"Randyll was a dick as usual," she says with a disinterested shrug. "He's trying to get us all to do unpaid overtime so we can get the latest issue out on time, but everyone has had enough of his bullshit. He is the most demoralising boss in the history of the world."

Jaime laughs knowingly. "Oh yeah. He's one of my dad's associates, so he's bound to be a dick."

The pair of them fall into a comfortable silence as Brienne continues to stomp around the cottage discarding the trappings of her day; she kicks off her torturous heels by the front door, she shucks off her tight jacket and hangs it on her bedroom door, she goes into the kitchen and unpacks her empty lunch box, and she ungracefully peels off her tights before plonking herself down on the sofa next to Jaime, her hair flyaway.

He looks at her with heat in his cheeks.

"What are you staring at?" she asks, her eyes fixed on the crappy quiz show Jaime is watching on TV. "Have I got something on my face?"

"No... I..." He thinks about it for a moment. "I was just wondering if there was anything that I could do to help you forget about your bad day?"

Her lips quirk in anticipation. Ever since they had kissed on the sofa after the massage, Jaime and Brienne have rolled into bed together a few more times, and it has been a fun form of stress relief. Brienne has even taken a few precautions to stop their hearts becoming dangerously entangled again; she insisted on condoms - she wouldn't be so reckless as she was after Christmas again - and always tried to face away from him while in the act. There was nothing so awful as seeing the bliss on his face when she knew he was imagining someone else.

The first time Brienne had turned away in bed, Jaime had pouted at her sadly. "What are you doing, Freckles?" he asked, putting his weak right hand on her shoulder and trying to get her to look at him. "Before my accident, I thought we had something..."

Brienne cut across him. She did not want to get into this _now,_ not when she was already feeling so vulnerable and the admittance that she could not look at him lest she saw Cersei in his eyes would surely break her.

"Yeah, well... things have changed since then."

Jaime had pulled his injured hand off her, as if her skin scolded him. For some reason, he looked immensely sad. "I didn't know it upset you so much," he had said, looking down at the fingers of his right hand and trying to wiggle them. It was all in vain. "If I had, I..."

Brienne had not wanted to talk about Cersei, the New Year's Gala, and how much it had hurt that Jaime had chosen all that over her, so instead she rested her head on her pillow and just tried to focus on the swell of pleasure that was already threatening to dissipate.

"Come on, Jaime, we don't have to talk about this _now,_ " she had moaned. "Can you just hurry up and fuck me? Can you just--?"

He had silenced her with a kiss, tilting her head towards his by cupping her chin with his left hand. She hated that the smallest gestures from him often felt romantic, even when she knew they weren't.

Now, Jaime is gazing at her carefully, waiting for an answer.

"Well? What can I do that would help you forget your bad day?"

With his eyes soft with want, Jaime looks _ravishing,_ and all Brienne wants to do is flip him onto his back and have her wicked way with him. She would start at his throat, kissing and sucking at it until he exposes it to her willingly, his hands digging into her back in his desire. Once he was willing and wanting beneath her, she would move down his chest, kissing all the little places she knew drove him wild, only stopping to lick at the sensitive patch of skin between his belly button and his groin. Jaime would be so hard by the time she got her mouth on his cock that he wouldn't last long, and she would have to kiss him through his apologies.

Yet Brienne is no good at verbalising her longings. Fantasies are for people who belong in them, not for people who can never hope to be the object of desire. "I want... I want..." She trails off, unable to explain.

Jaime just smiles at her.

"Freckles, if you are coming up short, don't worry. I have one or two ideas..."

Before she can ask him what his ideas are, his left hand is gently caressing the delicate skin of her inner thighs, made accessible to him by her sensible work skirt.

She inhales sharply. This is going to be a long night.

**May**

"I literally cannot believe Loras proposed," says Margaery excitedly while Brienne helps her and Sansa make cocktails in her kitchen. It is Girls' Night™ so Brienne is subjected to all the latest gossip from her best friends. Tonight's topic of choice is that Margaery's brother Loras has _finally_ got engaged to his boyfriend Renly, who had been the hopelessly gay object of Brienne's affection before Jaime had come bowling into her life.

Brienne is happy for them both, but it also makes her feel strangely sad. Not only have both Loras and Renly found love together, but so have Margaery and Sansa, leaving Brienne the awkward fifth wheel of their friendship group. She might have been able to cope with that, if it were not for the fact that Margaery and Sansa have also been more successful than her in their careers - while Brienne is busy slugging away working some boring office job, Margaery is a well-known Agony Aunt columnist and Sansa a successful interior designer - and to top it off, all the men Brienne has ever loved have never been capable of loving her back.

Sansa claps her hands excitedly. "Do you think he'll have bridesmaids? I'd love to be a bridesmaid."

"Sure thing," grins Margaery, before kissing Sansa on the cheek. Sansa blushes prettily in a way Brienne would never be capable of. "I'll bully him into it if I get to see you in a sexy dress."

"You'll have to be a bridesmaid too," replies Sansa shyly. She wraps an arm around Margaery in turn. "I'd want you looking beautiful on the big day."

Brienne cannot help but smile at them both because they are so patently happy together. Coming to terms with their sexualities had been a long road for both of them, Sansa especially, so Brienne is pleased that they are now committed to one another.

It doesn't stop her being a little jealous of them, occasionally.

"Of course Loras and Renly will have a big wedding," says Brienne as she continues to cut up the lemon for the cocktails. "They are both so dramatic they will want the fairy tale wedding, complete with Fairy Godmother, mice, and pumpkins, so _of course_ they'll have bridesmaids."

Although Margaery looks immensely pleased at that idea, Sansa is a little less certain. "I'm not sure I would want a huge wedding myself," she admits, turning to Margaery. "Would you?"

Margaery shrugs nonchalantly. "I could take it or leave it. While the big white wedding might be fun, something intimate would perhaps be more meaningful. What about you, Brienne? What is your ideal wedding?"

Both Margaery and Sansa gaze at Brienne as if they expect her to give them some serious answer, but instead she just laughs.

"Oh, I'm not getting married," she chuckles, continuing to cut the lemon a _little_ more forcefully than necessarily. "Who would marry me?"

Margaery rolls her eyes, the way she does every time Brienne starts to bemoan her love life. "Lots of people, Brienne, because love is about loving yourself first and then finding someone you vibe with who also has a hot bod. It is no more complicated than that."

Brienne bites her tongue to stop herself snapping back at Margaery. It is easy for her; she has always been attractive and confident, and her soulmate - Sansa - fell into her lap when they met at Science Camp when they were twelve. Things are not so simple with Brienne. Men just aren't particularly interested, and she does not have the self-confidence to go chasing them. And then there is Jaime; with him in her life, Brienne can't even _think_ about dating. He occupies so much of her heart that there is no room for anyone else.

"It is a lot more complicated than that," says Brienne. "Firstly, there's the whole dating aspect. You have to spend ages finding someone who will actually go on a date with you, then you have to sit through the ordeal of first date nerves, and then once you get there, they inevitably turn out to be a frog rather than Prince Charming. I want to find a _relationship_ but dating just feel like a chore and I barely get anything out of it..."

Margaery looks at Brienne confusedly. "Surely you get other things out of dating? Like, I don't know... maybe you occasionally hook up with a nice guy, maybe meet some friends along the way..."

Brienne scoffs. She sometimes worries that she lives in a different world to Margaery and Sansa, whose lives seem so much more charmed than hers and filled with a lot less friction. "Are you serious, Marge? I just have a string of first dates with no follow-ups. There's nothing exciting about that."

At that slightly bitter statement, Margaery and Sansa share a look so profound that Brienne reasons they must have talked about her lack of dating life _at length_ before, and she has now said something that has given them _cause for concern_ \- as if she is a child and they her primary school teachers - and they need to refer her for psychological examination or some shit. Agony Aunt Margaery steps into the fray at once.

"When did you last have sex, Brienne?"

Brienne stops cutting the lemon as she is too busy choking on her own outrage. "You can't ask me stuff like that!"

"Yes, I can, especially if I think it is good for your mental wellbeing," says Margaery, looking about set to diagnose Brienne with some psychological condition if she answered in the wrong way. "I've read plenty of psychology books for my column, and they all say sex is an important part of living a healthy, happy life. Yet for some strange reason, you seem content to live like some medieval nun imprisoned in a chastity belt. So... when did you last have sex?"

Annoyed that Margaery thinks she has the right to comment on her sex life, Brienne folds her arms across her chest. "Asexual people exist, Margaery."

"But _you_ are not asexual!" squawks Margaery in response, her eyes going wide. "I saw you salivating over Renly when he was wearing those teeny-tiny speedos at the beach last summer, don't deny it. You _need_ sex. So I'll ask again; when was the last time you did it?"

Knowing that Margaery is trying to provoke her into admitting that she hasn't had sex in ages so can use it as an excuse to pontificate about her Agony Aunt column, Brienne feels a sudden burst of vindictiveness. It would only take an active sex life to knock Margaery off her perch and, luckily, Brienne has one of those.

"Last Thursday."

The silence is instant, but only lasts half a second until Sansa drops her cocktail shaker in shock. Meanwhile, Margaery's eyebrows almost disappear into her hair line, even in spite of the botox.

"Last... last _Thursday?_ " she says, stumped. "You had sex _last Thursday?"_

Brienne cannot help but grin victoriously, and momentarily puts away her prudish nature in order to strike the final blow. "Yep. Last Thursday I sat on a guy's face and then I fucked him against a wall. Are you happy?"

While Margaery continues to look completely disarmed, Sansa is quicker on her feet.

"Who was it?" she asks. In her excitement, she steps forward, her eyes gleaming. "Was it a one night thing? Or are you in a relationship and just haven't made anything official yet?"

A knot ties itself in Brienne's stomach. The price of the truth is transparency.

"Neither."

At that cryptic statement, Sansa looks momentarily confused.

"... a fling?"

Margaery gasps at Sansa's suggestion. "Are you having a _fling,_ Brienne?" she screeches in a mock scandalised tone. "Because if you are, we _must_ alert all appropriate authorities. They will be shocked to hear you are having a relationship with a man outside the bounds of matrimony! Sansa, get the holy water!"

Even though Margaery and Sansa look excited at the prospect that Brienne is having a so-called _fling_ , Brienne cannot bring herself to feel the same emotion. Her best friends will probably be more horrified than happy if she reveals what exactly her current relationship status is, so she doesn't feel the need to get into it.

_It's complicated._

Regrettably, Margaery and Sansa seem to disagree. Desperate for details, Sansa pushes ahead. "Where did you meet? At work? Online? Do we _know_ him?"

Unlike Margaery, who has all the tact of a bull terrier, Sansa has an easy way of asking questions without appearing confrontational and such an open demeanour that Brienne finds it difficult to lie to her. Unfortunately, as Brienne needs to keep it quiet that _Jaime_ is the person she slept with, this would be the ideal time for deceit.

"Well... umm... I don't... um..."

"We _do_ know him!" says Margaery triumphantly, finding meaning in Brienne's babbling. "Is it Bronn?"

Brienne scoffs. "No."

"Robb?" suggests Sansa.

"No."

Margaery furrows her brow. "Tormund?"

"God no."

"Tyrion?"

Brienne blushes. Sansa was getting dangerously close to the truth with that guess; it is only one step from the extraverted, alcoholic Lannister to his caustic, arrogant, but strangely wonderful brother.

"Oh god, of _course_ it is not Tyrion," says Brienne, perhaps a little too forcefully. "How would me and Tyrion even do it in the first place? Physics would prevent it."

Sansa laughs, then winks at Brienne. "People have ways and means!"

While Sansa seems content to return to the cocktail making and other idle gossip, Margaery is not so relaxed. She starts to pace up and down the kitchen, holding one perfectly manicured hand up in order count the list of suspects on her fingers.

"So if it is not Bronn, or Robb, or Tormund, or Tyrion - and it definitely can't be Renly or Loras - I am seriously running out of potential candidates."

"OH. MY. GOD."

Both Brienne and Margaery jump when Sansa shouts violently loudly and drops the cocktail shaker _again_ in her surprise. With her hands now free, she can point an accusatory finger at Brienne, and it makes her feel strangely caught.

"If it is not Bronn, or Robb, or Tormund, or Tyrion, or Renly, or Loras, and you had sex with him last Thursday - which is midweek, so implies you must have easy access to him - there is only one guy who fits the bill. And he _also_ happens to be the guy you've been painfully in love with since forever."

At the simple exposure of her feelings for Jaime, Brienne blushes so violently that she almost gets a headrush, and it is _that_ which finally clues Margaery into what is going on.

"OH MY GOD DID YOU SIT ON JAIME'S FACE THEN FUCK HIM AGAINST A WALL LAST THURSDAY?"

"Can you please not shout?" asks Brienne, dropping her voice. "You have neighbours."

"I don't care!" squeals Margaery, clapping her hands like some excited five year old on Christmas Day. "As Sansa said, you've been totally in love with Jaime _forever,_ so the fact that this is finally happening is _so exciting,_ Brienne. How long has it been going on? Have you talked about making it official? Have...?"

Brienne can barely bring herself to listen to Margaery's babbling, as she is now taking this story to a logical conclusion that would only exist in her world. Enchanting, witty, charming women like Margaery always ended up with the prize at the end, but it wasn't like that for Brienne. Her life was like a school disco; she was permanently stuck on the outskirts of the dancefloor, while the more popular kids dominated the centre. And it was not as if someone would come over, take her hand, and offer her a dance like this was a bad mid-1990s rom-com.

The real world isn't like that.

"Guys, there is really nothing to talk about," says Brienne, trying to keep her tone somewhere between emotionless and nonchalant. "Jaime and I sometimes sleep together when we are horny and need to scratch that itch. He's still in love with Cersei, and I am not stupid enough to hope that he could ever love me... so I'll take what I can get."

The excitement that has been bubbling under Margaery and Sansa's questions dissipates at once, as if someone has popped a balloon. While Margaery just looks flabbergasted, Sansa is sympathetic, and she reaches out to take Brienne's hand. "Oh darling, I am so sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," says Brienne, even as a pair of hands close around her throat. "It is what it is and, as Margaery said, having sex is important for a healthy, happy life... so I'm trying not to care that he doesn't love me, that he _can't_ love me."

She does not notice there were tears on her cheeks until Margaery reaches up and carefully wipes them away with the sleeve of her expensive jacket, for which she mumbles a thanks. "Look, if I was wearing my Agony Aunt hat right now, I would probably tell you to _stop having sex with Jaime_ because it is doing nothing for your self-esteem," says Margaery. Brienne tries to interrupt with excuses - Jaime doesn't purposefully hurt her, Jaime doesn't know how she feels, Jaime just thinks this is friends with benefit - but Margaery silences her with a squeeze of the wrist. "However, I can clearly see that you don't want to hear that. So what I will say is just learn to play your cards better."

Brienne wrinkles her nose, confused at Margaery's cryptic statement. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," says Sansa, taking the seat beside Brienne. "That you can keep tapping that fine piece of ass if you want, but just learn to protect yourself better... and learn how to keep him on his toes."

"How do I do that?"

Margaery and Sansa exchange a glance before smiling and gazing back at her, the former waggling her perfectly threaded eyebrows.

"Why, with a little thing called _Tinder_ that you can use to flaunt the fact that you are goddamn desirable," suggests Margaery.

"And by _never_ hugging him after sex," adds Sansa. "You don't want him to know that you care, do you?"

**June**

Unfortunately, Jaime beats her to it.

"Tyrion has been recommending for ages that I join _Tinder_ , and I finally caved, but this app is confusing af. I keep swiping the wrong way."

Brienne tries not to show any emotion, so she reacts by kicking back on the sofa, nonchalantly flicking through the latest copy of _Heat_ magazine, and pretending that she doesn't care.

"Cool," Brienne shrugs, even though she is filled with such burning jealousy that she momentarily worries she is going to spontaneously combust. "Tell me how it goes, won't you? I'm thinking of trying it out myself."

He gives her a lopsided half-smile that looks strangely awkward on his handsome face. "Yeah, sure. I'll give you tips."

Brienne had played it all so casually that she is actually starts to suspect she really doesn't care that Jaime is dating other women, but that assumption rapidly shatters when he enters Brienne's bedroom two weeks later and drops a bombshell.

"I've got a date lined up on Monday, so I won't be able to drive you to your yoga class."

Brienne looks up from her nails, which she is halfway through painting. Given his pronouncement, she has to resist scratching his beautiful eyes out with them. "What? You? A date?"

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his golden hair. "It's with Pia, 26. I met her on _Tinder._ She seems nice; she recently came back from a holiday to Thailand... and I went to Bangkok last year."

Brienne cannot help but raise a sceptical eyebrow at him. "The fact that both of you having gone to Thailand really makes for the basis of a _great_ relationship," she says sarcastically.

"Stop being snarky," he replies, even though his lips are drawn upwards in amusement. "Having both been to Thailand is a much better basis for a romantic relationship than any of my previous reasonings."

Brienne looks back down at her nails, thankful she has not painted them Cersei Lannister red. "Yeah, banging your step-sister because you had parents in common was never a brilliant move."

Jaime sticks his tongue out at Brienne teasingly, but doesn't get confrontational or argumentative like he used to do when discussing Cersei. Deep down, that pleases Brienne. In the past, every time that Brienne had tried to explain to Jaime that the cruel things Cersei did to him were not part of a healthy relationship but abuse, he had kicked off. Now when Brienne disses her, however, he smiles.

"Well, can you think of a better reason why two people should date?"

"Common interests. Shared hobbies. Raw sexual chemistry. There are lots of reasons people get together."

He steps further into her bedroom, one eyebrow quirked. "Raw sexual chemistry? _Huh._ If that is the basis for a solid relationship, Freckles, maybe we should get it on."

"Oh ha ha," she says defensively, putting the nail varnish on her bedside cabinet. Jaime is edging closer and closer, and he has that _look_ in his eye that tells her he wants something of her. "Very funny."

"I'm not being funny." Jaime comes to kneel in front of her on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. "I think we should get it on. We do have that raw sexual chemistry thing going on, after all."

"Jaime, I..."

Yet Brienne never gets her words out, as Jaime swallows her objection as he surges forward and kisses her, his left hand jumping to her face. The kiss is not gentle or sweet, but instantly demanding, as he licks at the seam of her mouth until she opens up to him. They tumble back onto the bed - making Brienne very glad she had put the nail varnish to the side - and she finds her legs falling open so that Jaime can shuffle in between them, his weight pressing down on her, before she can think.

He doesn't stop kissing her, even when Brienne tries to speak into his mouth.

" _Mmmm_... _hmmmm_..."

" _Mmh_ ," replies Jaime, and she can taste his teasing smile on her lips. " _Mmmmm..."_

Brienne forgets what she is going to say as Jaime shucks the straps off her shoulders, then pushes her back into the pillows and buries his face in her neck. Playful but passionate, he starts biting and sucking at her throat, then soothing the hurt with kisses.

"Jaime," she moans, grasping at his hair.

The pleasure is almost too much to bear.

As Jaime pulls off her vest top and then returns to kissing her, Brienne wonders what it would be like to be lying beneath Jaime on a private beach on a faraway island, the sun kissing her skin and him kissing her face. They would be on their honeymoon, of course, and he would be whispering how much he loved her in her ear, and how happy they could be, and that he adores her right from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, and he's never even heard of a girl called Pia, and...

"You make me so fucking hot, Brienne," Jaime says as he grinds into her, his cock straining at the zip of his jeans. "Will you look at me? I want to see your eyes. I want..."

Mirroring what he had done, Brienne buries her face in his neck, concealing her gaze from him. She has a sentimental heart, but she is too terrified to show it to him.

"Fuck me," she whispers in his ear, desperately trying to sound dangerous and edgy. "Stop all this soft crap and just fuck me."

Although his face flickers with disappointment, Jaime does.

_Jaime... Jaime... Jaime..._

Once they finish, Jaime rolls off Brienne, his chest rising and falling as a consequence of his exertion. Brienne can only stare at him. He looks so beautiful in the dim light of the room, his features graceful and handsome, that she has to say something to stop herself being sentimental.

"I still think joint interests in holidays to Thailand are a _terrible_ basis for a long term relationship."

Jaime smirks at her, his eyes laughing. "And I'm _still_ going on that date with Pia."

Brienne rolls over so that he doesn't see her scowl.

**July**

When Jaime puts on the maroon suit that she knows he only wears for important occasions to go on yet another date with Pia, Brienne suddenly senses a new threat. For years, Jaime had been nothing but _Cersei, Cersei, Cersei_ and now, in an attempt to get over the blonde menace, he is putting yet another vacuous pretty girl on a pedestal and wearing his maroon suit in order to charm her.

 _I bought him the cufflinks that go best with that suit,_ thinks Brienne sullenly. _Why is he wearing that for her?_

Brienne watches as Jaime comes to fix his hair in the mirror in the lounge. It is harder for him to do things now, what with his hand, but he is still looking happy and relaxed in a way she hasn't seen for ages. That the prospect of going out with a woman like Pia makes him feel those emotions catches at an unpleasant, jealous place inside Brienne's chest. She cannot help but burst his bubble.

"What do you see in her?"

Turning away from his own reflection in the mirror, Jaime gives Brienne a quizzical look, as if he has no idea what she is talking about. "Who?"

"You know," Brienne says back, resentful that he is playing stupid. "The new one. Pia."

Perhaps it is her inability to hide her irritation from him, but Jaime gives her a lopsided grin. "She's great," he says breezily. "She's fun. She likes beer. We have things in common. She's a great lay. What is not to like?"

Brienne lets out a snort at that unexpected answer. "A great lay?" she asks, raising her eyebrow. "You - who pined, and pined, and _pined_ over Cersei for years like you were both star-crossed lovers or something - are now saying that Pia is a _great lay._ Can you even hear yourself? It is like you have forgotten who you are _."_

Jaime's grin drops at once, but not his eyes. As Brienne continues to stare at him challengingly, Jaime refuses to surrender and holds her gaze as second after agonising second passes. Eventually, he makes the first move. Straightening his sleeves, he gives her a tight little smile.

"Do you know what, Brienne?" he asks with a click of his tongue.

"What?"

"At least she doesn't make me feel cheap after sex," he says. "At least she's not afraid to hold me."

If Brienne were a less reserved person, her mouth may have dropped open in shock. Instead, she just bites the skin on the inside of her lip and watches as Jaime leaves the flat, a smug smile on his face due to his small victory.

 _That bastard!_ she thinks angrily as the door slams shut, the taste of blood hitting her tongue. _Who does he think he is?_

It is as if he does not remember the week after Christmas, or how she had poured herself into him and received nothing but darkness in return. For her, it had not just been a tumble of limbs and a few hard thrusts, but an exchange of hearts. Unfortunately, Jaime had never offered his to Brienne return.

_Bastard._

The minute he is gone, Brienne leaps into action.

She gets out her phone. She downloads _Tinder._

She swipes right on Hyle, 25, and wonders whether he'll be a good lay.

**August**

"So, how was it?" asks Sansa, before taking a sip of her super-skinny Frappuccino.

Brienne pretends not to understand. "How was what?"

"The first date with Hyle," says Margaery with a roll of her eyes. "We know you had it booked for the weekend just gone, so tell us how it went! I need _something_ to gossip about; now Renly and Loras are settled down in domestic bliss, I haven't got anything juicy."

Although Margaery's tone is quippy and spontaneous, Brienne can tell there is something planned about this. From across their coffees, Margaery and Sansa eye Brienne as if they are two vultures and she a particularly meaty looking animal carcass. It is quite unsettling.

Brienne shrugs, trying to knock them off course. "It was fine."

"Fine?" inquires Margaery, raising one delicately sculpted eyebrow. "Define _fine_."

"We chatted. We talked. We have some things in common... you know, _fine._ "

While Margaery shakes her head at the lack of detail, Sansa takes another approach. Although the tone she adopts is gentle and encouraging, she faces the issue directly without a hint of shame. "Did you have sex?"

"No," replies Brienne, scandalised.

"Did you kiss?"

"No."

"Did you at least touch him?"

" _No."_

Brienne doesn't touch _anyone_. Well, anyone other than Jaime.

"Are you going to see him again?" asks Margaery, before taking another sip of coffee.

Brienne shrugs again. It doesn't feel like a question she is particularly qualified to answer. "I don't know. He seemed nice, like an okay bloke... I'm not sure if he's the guy for me, though."

After that slightly avoidant statement, Margaery and Sansa share a glance that seems to contain a thousand and one unsaid things. Waiting for their response, Brienne feels her muscles tense as their judgement hangs over her. She knows her love life is an unmitigated mess that leaves all her friends pitying her, but she wishes they were less blatant about it.

"Are there perhaps... _reasons_... you don't want to date Hyle?" asks Sansa cryptically, leaning forward slightly.

Brienne narrows her eyes. She doesn't quite get what her friend is getting at; Sansa often has a way of dancing around the issue.

"What do you mean?"

"She means," says Margaery, joining in with the conspiratorial lean, "are there _reasons_ you don't want to date Hyle? Like, oooh, I don't know... perhaps you are still playing with your housemate's dick at the weekends instead of being serious about your own damn love life."

Brienne suddenly regrets buying the Hot Chocolate with Whipped Cream and Marshmallows, as said Whipped Cream and Marshmallows are almost spat across the cafe's plush tablecloth as she chokes on her drink.

"You can't just say stuff like that!"

Margaery slams one of her perfectly manicured hands on the table, knocking the drinks. "Oh yes I can if it is the goddamn truth," she says pointedly, giving Brienne a wry smile before rapping her knuckles on the table. With that gesture, it is clear Margaery is content to play the role of a judge declaring order in the court after some bombshell truth in the trial of the century. It irritates Brienne, so she folds her arms across her chest, giving her friend no chance to pry.

"You've got no evidence it _is_ the truth!"

"Yes, I have," chirps Margaery, a saccharine smile on her face. "Your blush for one; you've gone red as a tomato. Normal Jaime induced blushes are peach pink; therefore, given the shade of maroon, this one must mean something serious."

As Brienne repeatedly trips over her tongue searching for an answer, Sansa interjects.

"When did you last have sex with Jaime?"

Like a programmed automaton, Brienne gives her answer automatically. "Friday the twenty-seventh of June just after five o'clock." It is almost embarrassing how well she remembers the date and time. When Margaery and Sansa stare at her incredulously for her precision, she clarifies. "He had just told me that he had booked another date with some girl he met on _Tinder._ I felt... jealous."

"You tried to shag him out of going on a date?" says Sansa, her voice going high and squeaky in her shock.

Brienne shakes her head briskly, not wanting her friends to get the wrong end of the stick. "No... it just kinda _happened._ He was getting all cocky and argumentative like he does, and he wasn't wearing a shirt, so I told him he was a dick and then he asked if I wanted to touch _his_ dick, and then I..."

Sansa holds her hand up, the flat of her palm almost colliding directly with Brienne's face. "Alright, we don't need to hear the details."

"But we _do_ need the details on why you fall for it every time," announces Margaery, her voice becoming imperious as she arms herself with her Agony Aunt credentials. "I get questions like this in the paper nearly every week - _Will he ever commit to me? What can I do to change his mind? Why does he not want what I want?_ \- and I give them all the same answer: you cannot control other people, so when they are emotionally unavailable, you've got to let them go."

"Jaime's not emotionally unavailable! He's just got--"

"Issues, I know," says Margaery, giving Brienne a look that tells her they have had this conversation a thousand times before. "He spent half his life in love with his sister--"

" _Step_ -sister."

"He spent half his life in love with his _step-_ sister," corrects Margaery with a wave of her hand. "And because he's never known anything other than her, he thinks she is what love is... that _that_ is what love is." Sighing, Margaery rests her hands around her coffee cup, her bracelets clanging against the ceramic. She looks every inch the talented young professional Agony Aunt, while Brienne feels like a romance novice. "I know he's been to therapy and I know he's trying to change, but Jaime cannot completely rewrite his roadmap of romance just because you want him to. You deserve to be with someone actually capable of loving you, Brienne. You shouldn't settle for scraps."

There is something about what Margaery said that is such a weird concoction of patronising and true that it instantly gets Brienne's back up. "You've got this all wrong," begins Brienne forcefully. "Jaime isn't _incapable_ of love. In fact, he's the most loving person I know. He would drop everything to help a friend and--"

Sansa rests her hand on Brienne's wrist. It silences her at once. "Margaery is not saying that Jaime is not a loving guy," she said carefully, shooting a warning look at Margaery. "She's just saying that you can't spend your whole life waiting for Jaime to turn around and love you the way you want. You deserve better. You deserve someone capable of loving you back."

Brienne momentarily thinks of Hyle. With his brown hair and eyes, he is actually quite cute, and they have things in common. She could build something with him, if she put in the effort and focussed on the things she truly wanted, and...

The only problem is that he isn't Jaime.

Sansa seems to sense her thoughts, as she squeezes Brienne's wrist consolingly. "I'm not saying that Hyle is _that_ guy... but he might be. You said you had things in common; love might grow... if you only give it a chance."

 _A chance,_ muses Brienne.

Can she honestly give Hyle a chance?

Margaery and Sansa's words go round and round Brienne's head as she takes the bus back to the little cottage she shares with Jaime. She has a headache from clenching her jaw so much and wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and think of nothing.

Especially not of Jaime Lannister's perfectly pretty eyes.

That turns out to be an impossibility the second she arrives back home, as she discovers Jaime is sat in the lounge. As ever, he looks cute, and handsome, and a little bit feral as well, as he is wearing odd socks and has the most enormous bunch of flowers in his hand. She almost doesn't want to ask.

"Hey Brienne," he says, leaping off the sofa as quickly as if it were on fire. He grasps the flowers tightly, his knuckles almost white with tension. "I didn't know you would be back so soon."

There is something artificial about his casualness; in the awkward way he leans against the sofa, how he grips the flowers, the false, tense smile. It makes Brienne narrow her eyes at him.

"I didn't think _you_ would be back so soon. I thought you were with your therapist."

When Brienne had first booked the therapist for Jaime back in the hospital in February, she had thought he would drop it after two days. She is therefore surprised that he has been going to see Dr Aemon quite religiously every week.

"I was," he says with an almost nonchalant shrug, "but things went a bit... weird... so I decided to come straight back home instead of going for a walk like I normally do."

Although both Margaery and Sansa had been expressly warning her about becoming too embroiled with Jaime's bullshit less than an hour ago, the familiar pull of his soft, open expression and enchanting green eyes is almost too much to handle.

"A bit weird?" she asks, edging closer to him. "What do you mean?"

He steps forward and Brienne notices there is a strange sort of tension in the movement. It is as if he expects her to strike. "Well... Aemon got me talking about the past and asked me to define love. I gave him an explanation, but then he asked me to break it down for him into all its different aspects."

"What did you say to that?"

An embarrassed smile rose on his lips. "Well, I talked a lot about sex for a while, and then I also said friendship was important... and maybe loyalty. He said that was good, that I was describing what professionals might call consummate love, passion plus intimacy plus commitment. So then we talked that out for a while and he got me to evaluate my past and think about who I have consummate love with, and who I have never had it with... and who I might have it with, if I only gave it a chance. If only I could open my eyes and _see._ "

Jaime is gazing at her so intently that Brienne cannot fail to notice. There is a hint in his expression, a tease daring her to work something out; smug and challenging and infuriating. Brienne looks down at the flowers. Jaime has clearly taken the time to go to an expensive florist, and has asked for an arrangement in blue, as there are delphiniums and love-in-a-mists and Himalayan Blue Poppies all competing for attention. There are no roses, so Brienne thinks that if Jaime were to ever get her a bunch of flowers, the ones he is holding would be perfect. Blue is even her favourite colour.

She does not let herself be washed away by the dream, however.

 _He's dating Pia,_ she reminds herself. _He's got the flowers for her. He is imagining a future with her._

"Right," she mumbles, not quite looking him in the eye. "Well, I can't really talk about this now. As I said, I have a headache and it might be turning into a migraine, so I'm going to go take some paracetamol... and maybe some of that diazepam I got for when I'm feeling anxious... and just go to sleep." Her feet are moving her away from Jaime, in some sort of primal urge to protect herself, even as her heart reaches out to him. "I _can't_ talk about this now."

His face falls. He looks so hurt that it almost makes her feel guilty.

"When can we talk about it?" he asks, clutching the flowers to his chest. It almost looks as if he is being lowered into his grave.

A lump blooms in her throat; she never wants to talk about the fact that Jaime feels he could find consummate love with any other woman on the planet than her. It makes her feel like a shitty friend, and an even shittier prospect.

"I don't know... but not now."

She runs away before he can say another word.

**September**

The blue flowers stay in a vase on the counter until the third of September, when Jaime and Pia break up after he tells her he doesn't think it will work out long term. He decides to announce this to his erstwhile girlfriend in his bedroom while Brienne sits in the lounge reading a magazine, meaning it almost becomes a public spectacle rather than a private admittance. In a strange way, Brienne feels a little sorry for Pia - it is clear the poor girl had thought Jaime had invited her round for sex - and now she has to listen to Jaime's emotionally inept way of ending things instead.

"Why?" Brienne hears Pia ask through the thin bedroom door, her tone surprised. Jaime really was the worst for giving people hints and clues about what he was thinking. "I thought we had something good."

"We did." Even from this distance, Brienne can tell that Jaime is aiming for sincerity... and completely missing. "I just... I don't... I'm _sorry._ It is me, not you. I've been talking to my therapist recently and I realised that, when I date someone, I want to feel as if we have a chance at forever... and I am just not feeling that with you, Pia. I'm so sorry."

Brienne rolls her eyes; Jaime Lannister really can be the biggest idiot in the world sometimes. He has girls lining up to have their hearts broken by him, to have him stomp on their self-esteem and ruin their expectations of men, but he is far too busy pining over the terrible step-sister who wields her acrylic nails like daggers and her words like acid to take advantage of it.

 _Love you,_ Jaime had once told Brienne when he was high on pain meds in the hospital. It had been obvious even then that he wasn't truly talking to her.

When an autopsy is performed on her rapidly decaying body, Brienne is certain the doctors will discover those words still branded on her heart.

 _Idiot,_ she thinks.

Although she had thought she was talking about Jaime, it quickly becomes apparent that perhaps Brienne herself is an even bigger idiot as, on the fourth of September, she finds herself in his bed sucking his dick.

It had only taken a couple of tequila shots and some complaining about the futility of human relationships on her part, before Jaime had replied that not all human relationships were futile and had invited her back to his room. Perhaps due to the alcohol, Brienne soon finds herself using one arm to pin Jaime's hips to his bed, her head bobbing up and down as she pleasures him. She cannot help but revel in the way he squirms and groans as she licks the sensitive spot beneath the head, and thoroughly enjoys the husky _ah-ah-ah_ sounds he makes as she holds her breath and tries to take as much of him as she can.

"Brienne... god... _yes..._ "

Given that her love for him is so beyond her control at the best of times, in bed, she likes to hold him down and dominate him. It makes her feel bigger and stronger than her own feelings, and less weak in the face of his lack of them. With Jaime lost in pleasure, Brienne believes she has dominion over herself and her desires, as his body is nothing but hers to do whatever she likes with.

Jaime seems to enjoy it too.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Brienne," he moans, pulling sharply on her hair. "Fuck, Brienne... oh, you are so good... yes... yes... _yes... ah-ah-ah..._ wait stop... stop, please..."

She doesn't stop.

" _Please_. If you don't stop, I'm going to come... I'm going to..."

She wants him to do it, so badly. Brienne doesn't have the words to explain to Jaime how much she adores him, how much she cares, so she resolves to tell him like this; with his cock in her mouth and his hand in her hair, pretending at love.

Oh, how she wants it to be real.

_Fuck..._

"I need to get clean," she mumbles less than thirty seconds after Jaime comes down her throat, wiping at the corners of her mouth. "I'll be back--"

She never gets to finish her sentence as, in a flash, Jaime is upon her. Pulling her into his arms, Jaime tumbles them both back onto his bed, rolling so she is underneath him.

"No," he pouts. "Don't go."

"I have to. I'm meant to be going out with Sansa and Margaery in half an hour."

"I don't care. You've at least got to kiss me first."

Her eyes go wide when she sees that he is deadly serious. "Jaime, I..."

Before she can get her objection out, Jaime kisses her. His mouth is soft and warm and, before long, he is teasing her lips open with his tongue. She melts. They never kiss after sex; instead they roll over, laugh, and talk about other things. _Bros._ Yet this time she cannot say no. Brienne knows that he can taste himself on her tongue and finds herself enjoying the fact that he is revelling in the intimate thing they just did together, wanting to experience it all over again. In a strange way, his enthusiasm is almost romantic.

So she lets Jaime kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, and...

**October**

"I don't get it."

Brienne sighs for the thousandth time that morning. "What don't you get, Jaime?"

"You've been dating this Kyle person for like five minutes and you are now spending your birthday with him. What's that about?"

It hasn't been _five minutes._ She has been on four dates with Hyle spread over a few months, and the delay has mostly been due to the fact Hyle has to travel for work. It is not as if she doesn't look forward to seeing Hyle, it is just that if she does have to see him more often, they might consider themselves exclusive and then she would not be able to have these stolen moments with Jaime anymore.

She doesn't tell Jaime that, of course.

"It's not _about_ anything," she says curtly, putting the last few things she needs in her handbag. "Hyle and I have been seeing each other. It is my birthday. Why is it wrong that we should spend it together?"

"Because you don't _know_ him."

"I know him well enough to spend my birthday with him," she replies. "We are going to the cinema and then for dinner."

Jaime rolls his eyes. "Oh, how _original."_

"I don't need originality. I just need someone who shows up on time, who says what he means, and who doesn't mess me around."

As none of those things evidently applied to Jaime, he slumps back on the sofa and runs a hand through his soft, shiny, sexy hair.

 _Bastard,_ thinks Brienne. _He knows what he's doing._

"Right, because reliability drives women _wild,_ " he says sarcastically.

Annoyed by his arrogance, Brienne fixes Jaime with a stern look. "God, can you at least try to be happy for me?" she asks. "Just because it all went up in flames with you and Pia, it doesn't mean you should try and pull down my own shot at happiness."

"I'm not pulling down your shot at happiness," he says with a sigh. "It is just that I..."

She shakes her head, not wanting to hear Jaime justify his petty, small jealousies. "I shouldn't be back too late. Don't eat the pasta I cooked this morning - I'm saving that to take to work tomorrow - and don't try out the cocktail shaker Sandor got me. It's a birthday present; I get first dibs."

Jaime nods, his perfect mouth naught but a straight line of disapproval. "Fine, Freckles, I won't touch your blessed cocktail shaker."

"Good!" She blows him a kiss. "I'll see you later."

Absentmindedly, Jaime catches it. "Yeah. See you later."

Although Jaime and Brienne had agreed that they would _see each other later,_ in fact, that is not entirely true. From the moment Brienne leaves their house, all she can think of is Jaime, and he is a permanent inhabitant of her mind's eye. She imagines him pottering around the house, shirtless and wearing those loose slacks that he must know drive her crazy. She wonders if he will get dressed and go out, or just have an extra-long shower, the water sluicing over his perfectly sculpted body. As he runs the soap down the centre of his chest, Brienne imagines that he is picturing having her in his bed, kissing her neck while their naked bodies writhe against one another, entwined...

"Hey Brienne, it is nice to see you again."

Hyle kisses her on both cheeks before Brienne quite registers that she is speaking to him.

"It's great to see you too," she says. "Shall we...? I... _oh._ "

Before Brienne can get her friendly platitude out, Hyle has shoved the largest, most ostentatious bunch of roses into her hands, the plastic wrapping crinkling under her fingers. It is as if he has punched her; once again she is twelve and at the school dance, Ron Connington throwing roses at her feet.

"Do you like them?"

She nods mutely until she can summon the words. "Yes, they are... they are... nice."

"Brilliant, I knew you would like them," grins Hyle, before putting an arm around her. "Shall we go and take our seats?"

Not really having any choice, Brienne follows Hyle into the _Picturehouse Cinema_ and lets him order a drink for her and a huge bucket of popcorn. She is disappointed to discover that has he has chosen salty, not sweet, and failed to even ask her opinion on the matter. Brienne might have been able to forgive that, but then she discovers the film he has picked - again, without her consultation - is a three hour long docudrama about the development of binary code. It is so boring that it almost puts Brienne to sleep, and the only thing that does keep her awake is the soft crinkle of the plastic surrounding her roses, the very same roses that remind her of bad memories.

Hyle doesn't even say _Happy Birthday._

Dinner is not much better. Hyle spends the whole time talking about his dull-as-dishwater exterminator business, without ever asking her a single question about her even more boring office job. Although she doesn't want to talk about Randyll Tarly and the magazine, to Brienne, it is the principle of it that counts.

So, although the food is good and the ambience sublime, Brienne has had enough of Hyle and his oblivious rudeness by the end of the main course and decides to call it a night.

"I haven't done anything to upset you, have I?" Hyle asks, looking at her as if he hasn't got a clue how annoying he has been all day.

As she is a non-confrontational person, Brienne just shrugs. "No. I just need to get home. I have a little bit of a headache, if I'm honest."

She's not being honest. She doesn't have a headache.

Hyle nods, even if he is looking at her a little suspiciously. "Well then, should we split the bill?"

"Sure." Brienne has no problem with that.

She had expected they would go a simple 50/50, but Hyle gets his phone out and starts calculating everything to the last penny. "So, you had the calamari to start and the Steak Tartare for mains, as well as the rum and coke, and the bottle of Evian. So by my calculation, that makes it..."

Seething about how simultaneously caring towards his wallet and uncaring towards her Hyle has been all evening, Brienne has to try to prevent herself yelling at him. Yet the second the waiter has taken her payment, Brienne gets up from her seat and says her goodbyes. She makes sure to leave the roses on the table.

"Can I see you again?" Hyle calls, perhaps a little desperately.

Brienne pretends she cannot hear him, and storms into the bitter October night. What would be the point? Although both Margaery and Sansa had edged towards encouraging Brienne to date Hyle, she now knows he is not the man for her. Hell, he is barely a pale imitation.

 _Jaime wouldn't treat me so poorly,_ she thinks, _even if he is just as oblivious._

Brienne finds the man for her back at their cottage, singing along very loudly to some old _ABBA Gold_ album. Out of tune and not on the beat, Jaime is conducting an invisible orchestra in the kitchen, so Brienne cannot help but smile when she firsts locks eyes on him. He's always been adorable.

" _Can you hear the drums Fernando? I remember long ago_ \-- Brienne! You are back!"

Jaime is beaming at her from besides the kitchen counter, which is covered in a very messy array of cooking utensils - bowls filled with cream sauce, a discarded rolling pin, a baker's dozen of eggs - as well as the most lopsided chocolate cake she has ever seen. A breath catches in Brienne's throat as she spots it and stars sparkle in her eyes for the first time that day. It hasn't quite risen properly, and the icing is a little too runny, but it is a birthday cake that Jaime has made for her because he cares about her and...

"I didn't know if this Kyle person would get you a cake," says Jaime with a smudge of flour on his face that is so artless that Brienne feels the image needs to be framed and put in the Louvre. "So I thought..." He brushes his hands against the apron he is wearing, and Brienne is suddenly entranced by the strong smooth lines of his fingers, "... that perhaps _I_ would make you a cake. Happy Birthday, Freckles!"

He looks so proud of himself that, even though the cake is _terrible_ by any objective standard, Brienne cannot help but feel immensely pleased for him that he has discovered this little talent and is happy with the outcome. She is even more pleased that he has put all this hard work in for her.

"Oh Jaime, I love it," she cries, running forward to embrace him. He opens his arms to her in a heartbeat, and before she can stop herself Brienne is burying her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder while he is stroking her hair. "It's so sweet of you!"

She can feel his smile against her cheek. "Don't mention it. If anyone deserves a birthday cake, it is you."

God, he smells so good, like _cologne_ and _cake_ and _man_ and _sex_. She presses her nose against the patch of skin that is just visible over the collar of his jumper and takes in the scent of him. Suspended in desire, Brienne keeps a hold of Jaime, scared that if she lets go this moment will fracture and they will not be able to speak to each other without things becoming awkward.

They are so bad with words.

He starts the conversation by sliding his good hand under her t-shirt, teasing at the soft skin of her waist. Brienne sighs into Jaime's neck, enjoying the sensation of him touching her, his hand slowly moving lower and lower with every breath.

"Brienne," he whispers, edging on a moan. " _Brienne."_

" _Jaime_." Her breath catches in her throat as his fingers skirt under the top of her jeans, dancing along the line of her underwear.

"Don't go on another date with Hyle," he says, his tone harsh, low, and demanding. Brienne freezes uncertainly, which makes him pull back and look into her eyes. Perhaps sensing her fear, he softens and dissolves into begging. " _Please._ "

Brienne bites her lip, unable to fully comprehend the strange mixture of desperation, desire, and anticipation on his face. "Why?"

There is a pause, in which Jaime's drops his gaze to look at her lips, before meeting it once more. Every inch of Brienne's body screams for him to offer an explanation, to tell her something concrete _in words_ about these unspoken feelings that threaten to eat her up most days, that have almost overwhelmed her life and now dictate her story.

"Because I wouldn't be able to stand it, Brienne," he growls. "I couldn't fucking bear it."

There is no pause for breath before Jaime surges forward and kisses her, while she buries her hands in his hair, carnal and full of want. The subsequent clash of lips, teeth, and tongue that follows is so passionate it almost hurts, but Brienne can hardly bring herself to care.

Brienne loves Jaime and, as she slides her tongue against his, she realises that she can't pretend any longer that anyone else will be enough.

**November**

Jaime's room has a window that overlooks the street, so when Brienne lies in his bed with his long, strong body pressed against her side, she can see the great sweep of their cosy little cul-de-sac and the changing lights of the evening sky. Greys and purples dominate the expanse now, where in the summer she might have expected to see blues and reds, dotted with dancing birds.

As he sleeps, Brienne can look at the sky and imagine it is Last Christmas, moments before Jaime had broken her heart by returning to Cersei. The weather had been similar then too, and just as in that strange, wonderful week, Jaime has his arms around her, and a thigh nestled between her legs and against her cunt.

Although she is in a strange mood, Brienne looks over her shoulder to gaze at him, barely able to stop herself marvelling. In repose, Jaime looks like some legendary figure carved into marble, a miracle made flesh. Even though he has a few minor imperfects - a mole just below his left eye and a scar on his chin from a childhood accident - he is still monstrously beautiful.

 _God, I love him,_ she thinks, shuffling back so she is more firmly cocooned by the warm, protective curve of his body. _I love him, I love him, I love--_

Brienne phone buzzes, pulling her out of her reverie. Trying not to move too far away from Jaime, she stretches one long arm to the bedside table and retrieves her still vibrating phone. She is greeted by a stream of messages.

 _Margaery:_ Wanna come out?

 _Margaery_ : Sansa and I are thinking of going to that new bar that's just opened.

 _Margaery:_ Come with xxx

Although there is a part of her that just wants to go out and get drunk with Margaery and Sansa, it only takes one glance at Jaime sleeping peacefully beside her for her to make up her mind.

 _Brienne:_ Sorry, I can't I'm busy tonight.

It takes a few moments for Margaery to answer, the three dots of doom whirring on Brienne's screen in anticipation.

 _Margaery:_ Why? What are you doing?

 _Brienne:_ Jaime 😳

This time, Margaery's pause is judgemental rather than questioning.

 _Margaery:_ Oh god, really?

 _Brienne:_ Yeah, *really*. I can take a photo if you want.

 _Margaery:_ No, don't do that. I don't like penises, remember?

 _Brienne:_ I wouldn't have taken a picture of his dick! Just his face.

 _Margaery:_ I don't want to see his face either. The Agony Aunt in me is telling me that you are just sleeping with him because you want to avoid having a serious conversation or that _he_ is avoiding it. Cut it and run! If he can't tell you how he feels, you are not getting what you need from him _emotionally._

Brienne sighs. In the last few months, Margaery and Sansa's opinion on the subject of Jaime had turned from them being sceptical about his feelings to being sceptical about his ability to _articulate_ his feelings, but it doesn't make these conversations any easier.

 _Brienne:_ Do we have to talk about this? I feel we've trodden over this ground a lot.

 _Margaery:_ Yes. You need reminders. @Sansa remind her.

 _Sansa:_ @Brienne Don't fuck Jaime. It is bad for your self-esteem.

 _Brienne:_ 🖕

 _Sansa:_ 😂

 _Margaery:_ Don't laughing face her! This is a serious issue.

 _Sansa:_ Which we've gone over lots of times. If Brienne has not stopped shagging Jaime in the last eleven months despite our advice, babe, there is nothing you can do. So let her enjoy her boy toy, while we go and get _drunk._

The three dots of doom start scrolling for such a long time that it indicates to Brienne that Margaery is probably writing some extremely detailed, judgemental reply, so she decides to mute the conversation.

 _Brienne:_ Have fun! I'll chat later!

If Margaery was here in person, she would not be letting Brienne get a word in edgeways at this point, but luckily, Brienne can just put the phone down and relegate her rantings to the silence.

 _Jaime and I are never going to talk,_ she thinks. _We can have fun though..._

_Can't we?_

Trying not to mull on the questions Margaery's comments have raised, Brienne puts her phone back down and tilts her head to look at Jaime. The tapping of her phone has clearly roused him, as he is stretching slightly and rubbing his eyes. Brienne hopes and prays that he did not see the messages.

"Hey, Freckles," he mumbles, before pressing a kiss to her lips. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," she replies, even as she turns her head away from him. In light of Margaery's words, the thought of kissing him while wrapped in his arms feels far too intimate for what they allow themselves to be, so she tries to keep her distance.

Jaime blatantly senses her disquiet, as he presses another kiss to the corner of her mouth and smiles at her sleepily. "Is it alright if you stay here for a while?" he asks. "It is not too late, and it would be nice if we just cuddled." 

Brienne snorts, even though she agrees that _does_ sound nice. She doesn't want to seem desperate.

"I'd prefer it if we fuck," she says, picking the crudest language possible to describe their intimacy. It seems easier to deal with that way. "You would do all the hard work, of course."

He hums in amusement, before leaning in so close that his words are almost a kiss.

"Freckles, are you going to be my Pillow Princess?"

She laughs. "Yeah, I'm feeling lazy today."

Jaime smirks, then kisses her neck, her shoulders, her chest, her breasts... lower and lower with every press of his lips. When he pulls back the covers to reveal her entire body to the cool air, Brienne grows a little self-conscious, but the feeling is quelled when he looks back up at her, his eyes full of desire.

"Alright, your majesty. How can I be of service?"

**December**

As November rolls into December, Brienne continues to roll into Jaime's bed, and desperately tries to keep things crude. Her friends are right; Jaime is incapable of fulfilling her emotional needs, so Brienne becomes determined to use his body for her pleasure and nothing more. She doesn't _feel_ anything for him; she doesn't want to buy him a thoughtful Christmas gift, or touch his face as she kisses him, or wake up on Christmas morning wrapped in his arms. All they are doing is _fucking_ , and he just happens to be the person attached to her favourite dick.

Yet as she lies beside him in bed, Brienne's true feelings stare at her through the glass encasing her heart, like the hungry Little Matchstick Girl watching a greedy, oblivious bourgeois family on a cold Christmas night. Being without Jaime's love makes her feel starved, but also gluttonous.

Crudity becomes increasing difficult as, after their latest bout in which he had tested how many times he could make her come with just his tongue, Jaime gets her a cloth to help her clean up. Before she can stop him, Jaime is patiently wiping the soft skin of her inner thighs and treating her cunt like a holy relic he is charged with guarding. She shivers as he touches her most sensitive flesh and opens her legs wider to give him access, conscious that this permittance is too intimate and vulnerable for her tender heart. The gesture is so sweet that their connection momentarily feels real to Brienne, as if she is more to him than somewhere to warm his cock when he's feeling sad.

Once he has returned the cloth to the bathroom, Brienne tries not to look at Jaime when he gets back into bed beside her once more and pulls her into his arms. He is so warm, and his chest hair tickles her arm. There is a heartbeat of silence.

"Are you alright?"

"Yep." She pops the _p_ for extra effect.

He releases a breath that he had been holding. It is warm against her cheek.

"Just alright?" he asks tentatively. "Or have I rocked your world?"

His attempt to be crude makes her loosen up, and she lets out a huff of laughter. "Don't go fishing for compliments, Lannister. _Alright_ is all you are getting."

"Are you sure about that?" The corner of his mouth curls upwards in a teasing smile. "We've been at this for months. Surely I've mastered all the ways to pleasure you by now. I've even got that little tongue flick down that you like while I'm eating you out; you know, the one that makes you squeeze your legs around my head."

Although she had started the teasing, that Jaime is treating her sexual preferences lightly is unnerving, so Brienne goes to sit up. She does not have the space in her heart for his mockery, because it is the gentlest agony.

It almost feels like flirting. It almost feels like intimacy.

"Hey," he says softly as she tries to escape the warm entrapment of his arms. "Where are you going?"

"To have a shower," she replies, not quite looking at him. "And then I might go out. I haven't finished my Christmas shopping yet, and I need to get Sansa..."

Drawing her close, Jaime pulls Brienne onto his chest, so their bodies are entangled, and it is hard to tell where she stops and he begins. "You don't need to do that," Jaime says softly. He breathes in deeply, as if trying to take in her scent. "Not now anyway... not when we've just made love."

Brienne jerks away from him sharply, his words scalding. There had been nothing _loving_ about the sex they had just had; it had been feral, fast, and fucking hot. She never allows things to get too tender between them - she always says no to missionary and hates looking in his eyes as he makes her come - so the fact that Jaime is lodging their screwing in romantic terms almost makes her laugh.

"Oh god, did you just say we _made love_?" she snorts, as she pulls herself off him once more. She goes to retrieve her knickers from the other side of the room, which Jaime had thrown there once he had peeled them off with his teeth. "What are you? A teenage girl?"

Jaime frows in embarrassment, his cheeks turning a dark red. "That's what we've always been doing, Freckles," he says, his voice low. "No matter how kinky it gets, we've always been lowkey making love."

Brienne rolls her eyes flippantly, even though her heart is beating so fast it feels like a stampede of wild horses. "No we haven't." Firmness is the only way to deal with this situation, she thinks, otherwise Jaime will run away with the narrative. "We are each other’s booty call. Whenever you feel sad and lonely, you roll in here and ask for a fuck. Whenever I want a human attached to my sex toy, I call you. Don't turn this into something it isn't."

Jaime follows her statement with a silence so heavy that she almost feels awkward retrieving her bra from the lampshade it is casually draped over. Slipping it on, she tries not to look at him, but it is difficult when he is staring at her, aghast. It is as if she has said something shocking.

"You are not my _booty call,"_ he eventually manages to splutter.

"What am I then?" she asks, a little exasperated, not expecting him to give her a serious answer. "Your friend with benefits? A no strings attached roll in the hay? Call it whatever you want, but please don't pretend it is one of those star-crossed romances you love so much, or even the plot of some dreadful Hallmark Christmas film. It is just _sex,_ so don't overthink it."

There is yet more silence as Brienne goes to retrieve her t-shirt from the floor, and he continues to gaze at her from the bed, unblinking. Only once she has shimmied her t-shirt over her shoulders does she turn to look at him; she expects him to smile, but instead he looks thunderstruck.

"Are you okay?" she asks, not quite sure why he is looking at her so strangely.

It takes a few moments of Jaime working his mouth around unsaid words for him to speak, but when he does his voice is low and hoarse, heavy with emotion. "I promise not to romanticise our... our... _relationship,_ as long as you don't turn it into something cheap."

"I'm not turning it into something cheap," she says with a barely suppressed roll of the eyes. "I'm just being realistic. Our _relationship_ \- as you call it - doesn't exist outside these four walls when we both feel horny. So what else is there to call it other than a booty call?"

Thinking she had verbally vanquished him, Brienne goes to pick up her jeans, but she is interrupted by Jaime once more. "Oh yeah? And whose fault is that?"

She freezes. "Whose fault is what?"

"That I am just your booty call?"

Brienne looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and is shocked to discover that Jaime is staring at her as if he has a point, as if he has something to fight her with. If it wasn't all so serious, she might have laughed. "It's _your_ fault, Jaime," she declares, trying - and failing - to keep the bitterness from her tone. "It is _you_ who wants it like this, _you_ who..."

"No, it isn't!" he says loudly, pushing this from a conversation into an argument. "It is you who..."

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it isn't!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it isn't!"

"Yes, it... oh god, do you know what?" she says, grabbing her jeans from the floor even as she continues to look at him scathingly, "I don't have time for this childishness right now. You are not even acknowledging actual reality and..."

Jaime's green eyes were locked on her with such intensity that she almost felt scorched by them, but the burns did not hurt as much as the words that followed. "You are the one who always runs away after we have sex," he says angrily, dropping the duvet to reveal his perfectly sculpted chest. Why does he always have to be so fucking beautiful, even when she is furious with him? "It is _you_ who won't kiss me afterwards. _You_ who won't hold me. _You_ who--"

It is too much. She knows that Jaime can be wilfully oblivious to actual reality, but this denial of the events of the past year is really taking the biscuit.

"Me? _Me?"_ she shouts, dropping her jeans, angry tears welling in her eyes before she can stop them. " _You_ are the one who went back to Cersei, so don't you _dare_ tell me that it is me putting up barriers here."

His mouth slams shut in a shocked _snap,_ silencing his comeback and setting him reeling. For once, Jaime is struck dumb. It takes a few moments for Jaime to start blinking at her confusedly, but when he does it becomes rapidly clear he has no idea what she is talking about.

"Went back to Cersei? When?"

Brienne lets out a bitter laugh. She cannot take this faux stupidity, this blatant denial of the easy way he had coaxed her heart out of her chest then viciously stomped on it.

"Last Christmas, with the whole Lannister Gala thing."

Jaime blinks again.

"What? That wasn't--"

"Fuck off," growls Brienne, silencing him with the ferocity of her attack. "We spent a week in bed together, in which you came inside me _multiple times_ , and then you casually told me that you were going to the Lannister Gala with her, days after you discovered that she was _marrying someone else._ And then you nearly fucking died, and in your drug induced daze you told me that you love her. So _don't_ try and spin me some bullshit now when I remember. I _remember_ what happened, and I _remember_ how much it hurt."

Even though she is glaring at him, Jaime is still doing a decent impression of a new-born fawn who has not learnt about the cruelties of the world yet.

He blinks... _again._ "What?" he repeats, his face going strangely blank. "That wasn't what happened at all. That..."

Having no time for revisionist histories or for retellings of the story of how he broke her heart, Brienne holds her hand up as if she intends to physically push him away from her. She cannot let him near; she is not _strong_ enough to let him near her again.

"I have to protect my heart, because I know I can't trust you with it. I gave it you last Christmas, and you just gave it away!"

Jaime's anger is suddenly muted by an amused quirk of his lips. "Isn't that a song?"

"Don't turn this into a joke, Jaime!" thunders Brienne. That he treats her declaration of actual real feelings so lightly makes her want to scream. "You broke my heart last year and you are not even man enough to own up to it."

She expects him to be contrite, but instead Jaime shakes his head disbelievingly, sitting up in the bed to reveal even more of his perfect body. " _I'm_ not man enough to own up to breaking your heart, Freckles? Me? Have you even looked at yourself?"

"Myself?" she splutters. "How the hell have I broken _my own heart?"_

"I'm not talking about _your_ heart; I'm talking about _my_ heart!"

His face flushed with emotion, Jaime leaps out of bed - naked and golden and flawed and perfect and human - and does not exhibit a modicum of shame at his vulnerability. Brienne wants to curl up into a ball and hide herself away. Although she has her t-shirt on, her freckly legs are still on show to him, and it makes her feel strangely defenceless when it isn't because he is halfway through eating her out.

"After the accident, you told me that we couldn't be together because of my hand."

Brienne freezes in shock at that suggestion, and every muscle in her body feels as if it is made of cement. The lie is so monstrous, so hurtful and hateful, that it is like he has slapped her.

"I've never said that!" she declares, horrified. "How could you even _think_ I would believe something so awful as that. You are my best friend, Jaime! Why do you believe I would reject you because you were hurt in an accident? God, I've been the one massaging your hand and talking to you about your hospital appointments!"

A cloud of confusion crosses his features as if he is genuinely mystified by the words that have come out of her mouth. "But that is what you _did_ say."

"When? I don't remember."

"Fourth of April," he says quickly, and it surprises her that he remembers it so exactly, "at about seven o'clock. You had come back from work after having a bad day, and we ended up messing around in my bed. We were about to have sex and then you rolled over so that you didn't have to look at me, so I asked you what you were doing. You didn't immediately reply, so I said that I thought we had something before my accident but then _you_ said that things had changed since then... and the only thing that had changed was my useless fucking hand, so I've been fingering you with my left ever since because I want to make you happy and..."

Brienne can barely hear him as he babbles on about all the ways he has avoided touching her with the hand he thinks she hates, because it seems as if Jaime had assumed back in April that they had a _thing_ back in December, while she had been assuming this whole time that he didn't want a _thing_ because he was still in love with Cersei and...

"What? I'm not still in love with Cersei."

Oh _shit_ , she had said that out loud.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm _really_ not."

"Yes, you are!" Brienne is shouting again, barely able to contain her resentment. And it _is_ resentment. Her love for Jaime has been brewing for so long that it has congealed, and it only takes a spark to ignite the inferno. "You've _always_ been in love with Cersei, ever since you were a young..."

Jaime grasps her shoulder with his left hand, his fingers digging in deeply. It was as if he feared she would run away if he did hold on tight. "I loved Cersei once, Freckles, but not anymore. We haven't been together for a year and a half, and I don't want to get back with her."

"You will," she says with the utmost certainty. "You always do."

"I won't this time," he replies, his left hand jumping to her jaw, stroking her chin. Brienne doesn't realise that she's crying until Jaime starts kissing the tears from her cheeks, each press of the lips like falling rain. Overcome by his gentleness, Brienne reaches out to take the hand he thinks she hates and squeezes his fingers. A moan escapes his parted lips. " _Brienne._ "

She is so close she could reach out and touch him; wrap a hand around his cock and tell him without words how much he means to her. But that is what she has been doing all year and it would be avoiding the awful truth, wouldn't it? Brienne steps back, trying to ignore how golden and beautiful he is. Jaime always has a way of being dazzling when she needs to block out his light.

"I've _never_ had a problem with your hand," Brienne says, using all the strength she has to look straight into his pretty green eyes. "I hate that you struggle with your exercises, and I _hate_ that it bothers you, but I would never not want to be with you because of your hand. It doesn't make me think any less of you, any differently of you. To me, you are always Jaime. Just Jaime."

Perhaps there was a softness in the way she had said his name, as something sad that had been lingering behind Jaime's eyes disappears, and it is as if the sun has risen. "Freckles," he says, smiling. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

She tries to reflect the joy in his expression back at him, but it is hard. "Good." She bites her lip anxiously. "But I... I..."

"What?"

Brienne steps back again, wanting to escape the tantalising pull of him. She finds herself backing into the wall. "I..." Feeling trapped, she takes a deep breath. She _needs_ to calm down. "It is not _me_ that has stopped us becoming something, Jaime. It is you."

"Brienne..."

She doesn't let him finish. "If you had told me Last Christmas that you wanted something with me... I would have dropped everything to be with you... but instead you went to the Lannister Gala with Cersei and hung off her arm like a great golden trophy, and you didn't even realise how much you hurt me by doing that. You made me feel like a piece of dirt on the bottom of your shoe, some stupid cow you could just fuck and discard."

His smile falls, like a star tumbling out of the sky. "Don't say that about yourself. I didn't mean it like _that,_ " he says softly. "Cersei is still my step-sister... I don't want to rip my family apart, and I want to find a way in which we can all live together... or at least peacefully co-exist. And part of that co-existing would of _course_ include me being with you." His expression is warmed by the type of softness Brienne has never quite permitted between them, and it is simultaneously uplifting and _painful._ "I might not have always known I love you, Freckles, but I know it now."

Jaime's beautiful face is blurred by the tears that are welling in her eyes. Despite the fact that Jaime is butt naked and she is not wearing her jeans, this moment is something close to Brienne's wildest dreams and so she wants to be able to see it, _experience_ it...

Even though she knows it is just a fantasy.

"Margaery and Sansa are right," she says, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "You can't just rewrite the roadmap of romance because I want you to. I can't just wish a relationship into existence..."

Jaime furrows his brow and steps forward, this time resting both hands on her shoulders. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying? I want to _be_ with you, Freckles. I want to look into your eyes when we have sex and cuddle you afterwards. I want to take you on dates and go out in public together holding hands, and I will happily announce to Margaery and Sansa that I _love_ you and am over the moon that you are my girlfriend. _That is what I want._ That is what I've wanted since... god, I don't know... at least since that bunch of flowers that you wouldn't accept, perhaps even before."

She remembers thinking how perfect those flowers were; blooms of blue interlaced with spurts of yellow; forget-me-nots and love-in-a-mists. For a few days, Brienne had changed their water religiously, marvelling at how much more she would have loved them if Jaime had expressly got them for her, and not for whichever woman he had picked up on _Tinder._ Yet they _hadn't_ been for her and Brienne had slowly watched them wilt, their petals browning then falling to the counter. Watching them die, Brienne had felt like the Beast jealously guarding her rose waiting for Beauty to turn around and love her.

Jaime had just turned around.

All Brienne had to do was trust him.

All she had to do was be brave.

"I c-c-can't," she stammers, breaking eye contact with him so she can reach down and grab her jeans. "I am so, _so_ sorry. I just _can't."_

"Brienne..."

"No, please don't," Brienne says holding up her hands.

Birds scatter outside the window, momentarily blocking out the light.

She flees the room before he can say anything else.

**This Christmas**

This Christmas is very much like the last, except this time Brienne's heart is already broken; she doesn't have to wait until the New Year. In the days leading up to the holiday, Jaime makes himself scarce and Brienne spends as much time as possible visiting people; she goes carol singing with Loras and Renly, she drinks shots with Bronn at the local bar, and helps Margaery and Sansa put up their outdoor Christmas lights. Brienne doesn't tell them what happened with Jaime. How could she? The little cottage she shares with her bastard beloved - which had once been warm, cosy, and homely - is filled with an icy silence that threatens to freeze them all, and Margaery and Sansa would only lecture her about it.

"Just talk to him, Brienne."

"It will help if you just open up!"

 _It can't stay like this,_ she thinks. _Maybe I should move out._

On the big day itself, Brienne rises early and leaves before Jaime wakes up. As usual, she spends the day at her dad's. He has a new girlfriend - Bessa or Betha or Bethany - and she is both inappropriately youthful _and_ is wearing an extremely low cut Christmas halter-top. Uncle Endrew once again drinks too much eggnog and Aunt Roelle sits there looking miserable about everything, while _Alexa_ blares some Christmas classics all around the house.

Brienne smiles, she laughs, but none of it is real.

When it comes time for Brienne to leave - early, as usual - her dad gives her a knowing smile. "Why are you leaving so soon? We have Yule Log left over."

He clearly expects her to mention her endless pining for the friend, soulmate, beloved. She's almost sorry to disappoint.

"I've got to pack."

His smile dims. "Pack? Why?"

"I'm going to be finding a new place to live in the new year," she says, powering through the words because she knows that if she gives them time to breathe then she will cry. "Jaime and I... just can't live in that house together anymore. It's not... not... _fair_ to either of us."

Her dad's expression becomes more open in his surprise, but then he nods understandingly.

"He's a fool not to love you Starburst," her dad says firmly. "An absolute ruddy fool."

She nods, unable to confess that it is _her_ who is the absolute ruddy fool.

"Would you like to take some leftovers? There's so much here... I won't be able to eat it all myself."

Even though she had only picked at her own dinner, Brienne nods enthusiastically. "That would be great, dad. It would save me cooking tomorrow."

She spends the last few minutes of Christmas at her dad's house loading up cold meats into a lunchbox and saying one final round of goodbyes, before eventually exiting the house into the bitter cold weather. Unlike last year, there was actual snow on Christmas Day, and the whole town consequently looked like an iced cake. Considering that everyone was with their families, the streets were eerily quiet, meaning that Brienne could revel in the muffled sounds of a sleepy world as she walks down the middle of the road.

 _A new year, a new me,_ she thinks. _Perhaps I can learn to live a life not loving Jaime._

Yet when she returned home, Brienne was to discover such hopes were not so easily achievable. Jaime was standing outside in an ironically ugly Christmas jumper, snowflakes crowning his golden head. It is clear he has been fixing the fairy lights that outline the cottage they share as they are now shining behind him, framing his face like a halo. Why does he have to look like a bloody Christmas angel when he comes bearing his heart?

She hates that he is so fricking perfect. She hates that he is so fricking _imperfect._

Yet at the same time, she loves him so much that he makes her imperfect self feel perfect too.

"Hey," Brienne says shiftily as they draw level. She is not quite brave enough to look at him properly. "I didn't know you would be here. I thought you would be having dinner with your family."

Jaime gives her a small smile. "Ahh, I came back early. As you said last year, Christmas is about spending the day with the people you love... and I figured you would come back at some point."

Brienne doesn't know how to deal with this casual declaration of love - as if it is assumed and already known - so she holds up the lunchbox her dad had given her and waves it in Jaime's face.

"With leftovers," she smiles. "There's turkey and stuffing and pigs in blankets and..."

At Jaime's soft gaze, Brienne eventually stops listing food. She has spent an entire year running away from _this_ conversation, and now it feels as if it has all been inexorably heading to this moment, to this split second which deserves to be framed and hanged in a gallery, a frozen glory. It is the most beautiful, terrible moment of her life, but there is nothing that she can do but face it. She does not have the words, so bites the skin on the back of her lip, hoping Jaime will speak first.

Thankfully, he does.

"So, yesterday I went to see Margaery and Sansa."

Her face feels hot. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah... mostly just to drop off Christmas presents and stuff... but I also stopped for a chat."

"About what?"

He does not answer immediately, but instead looks at her wearily for a moment. It seems that he has to gather his courage too. "About you. I wanted to work out why you ran away the other day when I was trying to pour my heart out to you."

The wind whips cold around her, but she only realises how cold when a tear rolls down her cheek and it almost freezes to her skin. Only the soft brush of Jaime's left hand against her face prevents it becoming ice.

"Did they give you an answer?"

Jaime nods. "Of sorts, but I wanted to hear it from you."

Brienne swallows heavily and it feels as if there is a stone caught in her throat, impeding the movement of her feelings from her heart to her mouth. How can she tell him that the sun rises and sets with him, or that mornings would be pointless if he wasn't there to wake up to? That they were perfect together but could never work, because he was haunted by his step-sister and she by the unshakable fear that she could never be enough.

"I'm scared," she blurts, which he instantly answers by reaching out and taking her hand in his. The gentleness only makes her cry more. "I'm scared that I'll open myself up to loving you and you won't love me back."

As she continues to sniffle, Jaime steps closer, but the box of leftovers gets caught between their bodies. It makes him laugh. "I promise you that there is no chance of that, Freckles. I want to spend every Christmas and Hanukkah and Diwali and Eid and Chinese New Year and Easter with you, because major religious festivals are meant to be shared with those you _love,_ and I love you. I love you so goddamn much that I can barely get you out of my head."

"Jaime..."

He is too much in the flow to stop. "And as for me not loving you... I am scared that you cannot love _me,_ because of my hand and the fact I spent years in the thrall of Cersei."

"I don't care about any of that..." she gasps, horrified at the idea that he would believe that she thought any less of him because of those trivial details. "Well, I care about the Cersei thing a _little,_ but only in the sense that you might go back to her. The hand thing doesn't bother me at all."

Jaime's eyes came alight with a glow so wondrous that it makes Brienne smile through her tears. His hands come back to her face - both left and right - and his closeness encourages her to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him close, the lunchbox clanking against his back.

"I love you, Jaime," she says, her lips ghosting against his. "Every time I turned away from you this year was not because I don't love you, but because I don't know _how_ to love you. I'm not very experienced."

He smiles at her, full of sunlight. "Loving me is quite easy, Freckles," he grins. "You've just got to date me, and cuddle me, and kiss me, and massage my hand because you _know_ how much I like that, and fuck me, and come with me to parties so I can show you off to all my friends, and just be yourself all the time because I couldn't bear it if you made yourself dimmer just to please me, because you are flat out wonderful just the way you are."

Knowing that Margaery and Sansa must have given him a good talking to, Brienne narrows her eyes at him. They have long been so bad with words, that Jaime's effusiveness is strange. "I have been doing a lot of that this whole time."

"Well, you _have_ been in love with me this whole time... haven't you?"

His smile is so dazzling Brienne is almost blinded.

"Yes," she says gently. "I suppose I have."

When Jaime gets on his tiptoes to kiss her, the meeting of their lips is not hungry and demanding as it often was when they were in bed together, but gentle and inviting. As she holds him in her arms, he cups her face with his hands and it feels as if he is beholding something precious, his most prized possession in the world.

"Jaime?" she says, the moment they stop kissing.

"Mmm?"

"You listed lots of ways I can love you..."

"Yes?"

"... but I haven't listed all the ways that _you_ can love _me_."

Jaime tilts his head and looks at her teasingly. "Go on then, Freckles. Tell me all the ways I can love you."

"Well," she begins, flushing. "Many of them are the same as on your list, but..."

"Yes?"

"I think I would like to go inside our home and make us a Christmas dinner out of the leftovers to share... Christmas is meant to be spent with those you love, after all."

Jaime smiles and Brienne is no longer scared.

"That sounds perfect, Freckles."

The snow falls.

She takes his hand and the two of them go inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As ever, I luuuurrrvvvee to hear what you think in the form of comments and kudos.


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